


Homo Ailuropoda

by phipiohsum475



Series: Species!Lock [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Panda!AU, Zoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock are both terrible flat mates. </p><p>This is a little different than my other species!Lock fics; John and Sherlock are actual Giant Pandas in this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John lumbered about the enclosure; he’d had his fill of bamboo for the morning, and all that chewing made him tired. He rolled under a big fake leaf, and dozed in the shade while attempting to ignore the throngs of primate young who liked to chatter and knock on the glass walls separating him from their overeager hands. The sun shifted, and he rolled whenever the shade shifted, and the hot sun glared into his thick fur.

During a lull in the clamoring primates, he heard his keeper, Mike, enter the enclosure, and an interesting smell follow him in. John deliberated, then slowly rolled onto his paws and padded his way over for affection. Mike had been his keeper a few years ago, and they were recently reunited. Though John was standoffish at first, Mike wormed his way back into John’s graces, and they’d been friends ever since.

He was halfway to Mike when he determined the new scent was an unknown primate, and John stopped in his tracks. He began to search for the closest safe space; there were several locations in the enclosure that were inaccessible to the primates for when he needed the time alone. He backed away quickly, keeping his eye on the interloper, as he found his way into his cave.

“Oi, John! It’s okay; she’s safe!” Mike called out, and John could hear him approach the cave. Mike squatted to talk to him. “You don’t have to come out, but I’m going to leave this blanket here. You’re getting a new flat mate next week. The lady you saw is Martha, his keeper. You’ll be seeing a lot of her, if you and the new guy can possibly get along.”

Another shadow filtered more of the sunlight from his case, and he saw an older primate ducking down next to Mike. She said, with a sweet crackly voice, “Hello, John, dear. Mike’s told me all about you. I do hope you and Sherlock will get along fine.”

Mike murmured something to Martha, then they both left him in the cave; the blanket at the entrance. He toddled forward to smell the blanket and saw that Mike had left sweet potatoes on top. He grinned, and as he enjoyed the fibrous root vegetable, he grabbed the blanket. A few sniffs intrigued him and he found the item comforting. He dragged it back to the cave with him and slept.

-o-

Over the course of the coming week, the blankets were rotated, so that the smell of the new panda was always fresh. John found himself wondering what the new panda would be like. Would he be like the others they had attempted to place in John’s enclosure; biased, some viciously so, regarding pandas from the wild? Would he pity John’s shoulder wound; taunt him for not being able to climb to the topmost platforms?

He picked up another stick of bamboo, using his pseudothumbs to hold tight as his powerful jaws mashed his breakfast. Or second breakfast. He knew the keepers had some sort of time schedule; he just knew he seemed to be eating all the time and he didn’t much care for the name of the meal. His jaw muscles flexed rhythmically up to the top of his head as he ground down with his flat, wide molars.

He saw the new keeper outside the enclosure, greeting a troupe of young primates.

“I’m Mrs. Husdon,” she began, in her elderly way, “I’m the newest keeper here at the zoo. I’m coming over with a panda who will be here tomorrow. He’s a special panda; his name is Sherlock. Both Sherlock, and our panda, John here, have had difficulties getting along with other pandas. Sherlock can be a very grumpy panda, and John was injured in the wild, so he doesn’t trust many other pandas.”

“How did John get hurt?” a little blondish primate asked.

“We’re not really sure how he was hurt, but he is skittish – that means afraid, dear – around humans, so we think that a human might have hurt him. There are bad people called ‘poachers’ who hurt special animals because they are rare and expensive.”

John cringed in on himself, and dropped his bamboo. He didn’t like thinking about it; and he went to the cave, cuddled up with Sherlock’s blanket, and fell back asleep.

-o-

The next day, Mike woke John with a soft cooing sound, and John dragged his bleary head up to look at him. Mike held out a handful of apples to taunt him with, and with a tired swagger John rose up on his legs and sauntered over to his breakfast. Mike stayed nearby as he indulged, then announced, “Sherlock’s here. Would you like to meet him?”

John finished his apples, and sat on his haunches. He stared at Mike, who finally uttered, “Come on. If he’s awful you’ll be rid of him in a week or two.”

He looked around the depths of the cave and saw the blanket laying there. He thought about the scent that he’d been sleeping with the last week, and he rose again, scratched his flank against the cave wall before finally settling into a slow pace. He held back, hiding behind Mike at a distance, glaring sullenly at the ground as he approached the other panda.

Sherlock gnawed furiously on the bamboo in front of him, then even before it was finished, he tossed it aside and grabbed another variety in his paws. John forgot about Mike as he watched, head tilted and eyes narrowed. When Sherlock dismissed the half eaten bamboo and lashed out for another flavor, John approached cautiously.

“Why don’t you finish it?” He asked.

“Cataloguing.” Sherlock paused, then continued chomping.

“Cataloguing what?”

“Species. Genera. There are 91 genera of bamboo, of which I’ve been able to catalogue 47. I’ve classified 243 species of bamboo in those 47 genres. I suspect that there a several species that are not fit for our consumption, however I am lacking wildlife information.” Sherlock finally looked up at John. “Oh!”

John’s face fell, and he instinctively stepped back. He curled into himself a bit as he retreated another few steps towards his cave, without turning his hind to Sherlock.

Sherlock rocked up on all fours and started towards John, who instinctively reared up on his hind legs. Sherlock froze, and spoke softly, “No, that’s not it. I don’t care.”

Sherlock backed up, giving John adequate space. “You’ve were injured in the wild, protecting a twin from a poacher. You’ve had several flat mates, but they’ve either been prejudice against your background, or against your injury.”

John came back down to all fours, took a step forward, and widened his eyes, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t know, I observed. Just like I know your wound was patched in the wild, poorly, and you can’t be reintroduced. You’ve had five, no, six flat mates in four years, and you trust nearly no one as a result. Mike is the only exception.” While he spoke, Sherlock took tentative steps towards John.

“That’s amazing.”

Sherlock stopped, and looked right at John, “That’s not what my other flat mates said.”

“What did they say?”

“Piss off.”

John snorted, stepping forward, “But it’s brilliant.”

Sherlock grinned, and rolled back towards the bamboo, “Come tell me about the bamboo in the wild; I’ve been missing an entire body of knowledge.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this went an ENTIRELY different direction than I had intended, so I'll probably add a third chapter later. But it's complete as is.

A week passed, where in Sherlock babbled a slew of useless facts and trivia. John humoured him for most of it, appreciating the background noise as he gnawed bamboo; it drowned out the chatter on the other side of the glass. Sherlock was fascinated by everything from the completely dull breakdown of enclosure textures by zoo, but also the intriguing descriptions and analyses of animals from around the world.

John was well aware that he was part of a larger world, and when he’d first come to the zoo, he saw things he’d never seen before between the slates of the well ventilated, well-padded crate he’d been transported in . Sherlock had an intimate knowledge of every species he’d ever seen stored in his Mind Zoo, and he made it a priority to learn about each before tossing a fit and moving on to another zoo.

“So, that’s why you do it, then?” John asked, “You just want more data, so you pick a fight with your flat mate?”

Sherlock shrugged as he scraped the bark from a log, “Yup.”

John nodded and turned. He used his good foreleg to grip onto the platform and dangle down until his hind paws touched the ground. He ambled over to his cave; he’d been cross when Sherlock entered it, but that didn’t seem to defer the other panda. He hoped Sherlock wouldn’t follow him now. He found the old blanket and pawed it aside, and curled up against the warm walls. It wasn’t natural how the cave felt warmer, he’d been in plenty of caves before, and he suspected it was another artificial comfort, like the awkwardly built platform.

He tried to drift into sleep, but it eluded him. He frowned; Sherlock’s words were running around in his mind, and he tried to make sense of his discomfort with them. He’d known Sherlock was a difficult flat mate before he’d even come. Why should he be surprised it was intentional? Why should it matter?

_It mattered_ , a voice in John’s head spoke up, _because he liked Sherlock_. It wasn’t just that the clever panda tolerated him when others wouldn’t, but Sherlock was genuinely amazing. The things Sherlock knew were brilliant, extraordinary, and John’d grown accustomed, in just this one short week, to not being _bored_.

John huffed. At least if he took advantage of the time he had with Sherlock, the excitement might last him a while. Or maybe he’d learn a thing or two to keep himself occupied after Sherlock’s departure.

-o-

When he woke, John was still a bit disappointed, but resolved to keep it to himself. He needed to roll and stretch to make his shoulder feel better, just like Mike had taught him. His keeper had made a little incentive station, where if he could stretch his bad shoulder just far enough, he could knock a handful of apple slices down. Mike had shown him that if he just stretched after resting, he could get his favorite snack a few times a day. John hated the soreness when he first woke up, but the exercises and apples made it better.

Once the stiffness had faded some, John sat and scooped a few apples slices up. Sherlock was below him, shuffling through the day’s bamboo to see if any new species needed to be added to his extensive knowledge. John groaned, it was like Sherlock to spend all his time examining the food and not eating it. He batted a few apples slices Sherlock’s way, the later subconsciously reaching out to take one while he continued his work. John smiled to himself.

When he finished his treat, John lay lazily on the platform above Sherlock and pawed at the bamboo in his hands as he tried to inspect it.

“John, must you? I am working!” Sherlock snapped.

“It’s food,” John replied, “You’re supposed to eat it. And it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“You don’t know that,” Sherlock replied irritably.

“I do. You forget I’ve been here much longer. We get a rotating blend of the same types you’ve had this week until the leaves change. That’s when you’ll have a few new types to examine. I mean, it might be stuff you’ve seen before, but not here, anyways.” John frowned, “If you stay that long, I suppose.”

Sherlock looked up. “You’re disappointed,” he declared with narrow eyes.

John sat back, out of Sherlock’s eye line, and grumbled, “Excellent deduction, that.” He cringed as he saw Sherlock pull himself clumsily up, scrambling to catch his hind paw on a boulder, and falling softly onto the platform once he did. He sat up with more dignity that he had a right to, and stared at John.

“Interesting. Why do you care if I leave? No one else has.”

“It’s nothing.” John shied away, and began to pad his way to the ramp down to the ground.

Sherlock leaned forward onto all fours, and circled around John, cutting him off, “No, it’s something. You’re upset. You are just as difficult as I am; Mike and Martha have discussed it before. You don’t like flat mates, so why do you care if I leave?”

Sherlock looked into John’s eyes, as though the answer was written there.

“You don’t like them because they don’t like you. Treat you different. So you push them away and make them leave. But you want me to stay.”

“Shut up, Sherlock,” John muttered, turning his head away.

Sherlock continued anyways, “Because I don’t care that you’re injured. That you’re from the wild. But then, why would I? It makes you fascinating, John. Everyone else is so boring, so ordinary.”

When John didn’t look up, Sherlock sat back and watched him for a moment, “That’s not it, is it? Because they’ll only try again a time or two until they stop trying to foist someone on you. I’m not just a lesser evil.”

Sherlock regarded John and then asked, “You actually like me?”

John pawed at the sapling’s leaves that spilled over onto the platform. “’Course I do,” he confessed.

“Oh. I don’t have friends.”

Sherlock’s bluntness cut to John’s core and he grew angry. Damn the ramp; he flipped his hind legs over the ledge, and felt for the boulder Sherlock foisted himself up on. He found it, but slipped as he tried to bare weight, and fell. He curled up as he fell, but landed on his bad shoulder. He let out a loud growl of pain, and tried to get up, but it hurt too much to move.

-o-

“John!” Sherlock cried out. He looked over the edge at John, unmoving on the ground, and fumbled down the edge and over the boulder. He nosed and John, who tried to bat him away with his hind leg and whined; the pain echoing deep in his throat.

Sherlock nosed John again, smelling the copper tang of blood. His eyes grew wide and he shuffled quickly towards the keeper’s door. He growled at the door, pounding it with his paws. He heard the click of the lock, and backed up. He paced back and forth until Mike followed him to John.

“John!” Mike fell to his knees, and feeling the fore leg John was favoring. John snarled at Mike, lashing out in pain. Mike pressed a button, and Sherlock heard Martha’s voice echo from his waistband. “I need a tranquilizer and Dr. Sawyer. John’s hurt!” he told her.

Martha came out almost immediately, and Mike took a large needle from her. Sherlock growled angrily; he’d been on the end of that needle. He had tried hard to be on the end of that needle so many times; he hated the transportation and loved the warm fuzzy feeling of that needle. But he didn’t want John on the receiving end; John was good and kind and wonderful and that needle was only for atrocious behavior. It was a punishment and Sherlock reared up on his hind legs, ready to bat the needle from Mike’s hands.

He was too late. He fell onto Mike after he pushed down the plunger, and Sherlock tried to bat at his head, but the pin prick in his hind leg made him woefully aware that Martha had been prepared for his protests.

-o-

Sherlock awoke blearily and cursed himself as he tried to stand. His limbs were weak and uncooperative. He fell over again, and again, and was finally able to walk after five minutes or so. He wandering around drunkenly trying to find John, but John was nowhere to be found.

He bleated and whined, pawing at the door, but this time, no one came. He couldn’t find John. John was hurt. He’d hurt John. It was all a misunderstanding. John needed to know. John had to come back so that he could tell him exactly what he meant.

-o-

John slowly dipped in and out of consciousness. He realized Sherlock had attacked Mike, for him. He saw flickers of keepers and primates he didn’t know. He saw big, white platforms, white caves, and his shoulder itched with the pain, but the throbbing had stopped.

-o-

John groaned, but this time, there was no one here to comfort him. He rolled to his side and was blocked by a bulky wrap around his upper foreleg. He put weight on it and it stung, but he could hobble around well enough. He sniffed at the bandage, it smelled bitter and he cringed away from it. He walked around the enclosure, grateful to be back in comfortable surroundings. He followed his scent markings and noticed that Sherlock had left a few too. He hadn’t remembered that from before, but then the overall scent in the enclosure didn’t seem to have changed, so it must have been there before.

He heard Sherlock shuffle from the platform, and John hurried to find his cave. He couldn’t face Sherlock, not now.

“John!” Sherlock called out as he shambled down the ladder. John ambled into his cave, hoping to avoid his flat mate. Sherlock, per usual, ignored the scent boundaries and social conventions, and entered his space anyways.

“Get out, Sherlock. Leave me alone.” John said quietly.

“No, John. I- I’m sorry,” Sherlock tried to nuzzle John’s affectionately. John pawed him away, but Sherlock insisted. “You didn’t understand!”

“No, I understand plenty,” John growled, turning away, burying his snout into his fore legs.

Sherlock snapped, “Don’t be an idiot, John! I said I didn’t have friends.” He sat on his haunches, “But _I do now_. I didn’t know. I’ve never had one before.”

John looked at him and pushed himself up with his good foreleg, “Not one?”

Sherlock smiled. “Given the location of your bandage and the duration of your absence, it’s just a flesh wound. A deep slice they had to stitch back together.”

John’s irritation faded, “You could tell all that? Just like that? That’s amazing!”

“Not really. I also saw the blood and fur on the sharp edge of the boulder.”

“You prat!” John shoved Sherlock playfully with his paw, and then went all in, tackling Sherlock. They bowled over together and wrestled out of the cave.

Sherlock was able to pin John and questioned, “Why did you attack me?”

John looked confused, “I’m just playing. Haven’t you ever played?”

“No friends, remember?” Sherlock looked down, grabbing his hind paws with his front.

“I’ll show you,” John laughed, and bowled Sherlock over once more.

The two spent an afternoon wrestling; and Mike and Martha watched affectionately from behind their observational glass.

“Looks like we’ve got a match,” Mike said.

Martha nodded, clasping her hands. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Then she sighed, “But there will be trouble, I promise you. Friend or no, Sherlock’s always been handful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Janto321](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321) for the beta!

**Author's Note:**

> I might add another chapter to this; it ended up taking a different turn than I expected...


End file.
